My house is half-decorated, the UPS man keeps dropping off presents I've purchased from the Internet, there's no food in the house, and the baby has missed his nap. Oh, and there's a pile of addressed but un-stamped holiday cards on the dining room table.
But I should be writing, right?
The rest of the year, I work hard to make writing a priority, the same way I would any other job. Chores get put off, and dinner is sometimes of the stick-a-frozen-pizza-in-the-oven variety so that I can finish chapter seven. And that's good! Life can suck up all my writing time in the blink of an eye, and I don't want that to happen.
Except in December. There's a time to work, and there's a time to rest and celebrate and snuggle in with my family. It's difficult to remember that sometimes, when I'm so used to pushing myself to writewritewrite. I look at it this way: I get irritated with my husband when he's too focused on his job around the holidays. This time of year is for family! How dare he be putting in weekend hours when it's time to put up decorations? So, I try to hold myself to the same standard.
The chapters will still need to be written in January (and what else am I going to do with snow on the ground and the wind chills registering in the sub-zero category?) If I get some writing done now - yay! Bonus! If not . . . well. It's the one month a year when I can kick back with a glass of egg nog and watch the fire, so I'll make a point to do that.
Now I need to go wrap some presents . . . . .